


The Oceans They Did Rise

by disapparater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beaches, Dating, Escape, First Time, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, New Zealand, Ocean, Post-War, Self-Discovery, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8276363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/disapparater
Summary: Finding post-war life more difficult than he'd imagined, Harry travels halfway around the world to find some peace. He also finds Malfoy, art, adventure, the ocean, and himself. (Not necessarily in that order.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this, but I'll be honest, most of the fun was the research. I think every non-magical place mentioned here is or was a real place. Thank you DC for being there at every stage and giving thoughtful, excellent advice despite your own hectic schedule. Thank you W for tsking at my 'meter's and saving me from myself by favouring a poetic title. [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tp9DADjYKl8)]

With his eyes closed all Harry can hear is the movement of the water and the occasional squawk of a seagull. The air smells clear but for a hint of sea air, and a light breeze blows across his skin. Harry savours the stillness of the deserted beach.

When he opens his eyes he looks out at the water, the warm afternoon sun sparkling across the surface. The cliffs rise up high above him on three sides, but he feels safe rather than trapped. Harry wants to explore the beach more at some point—he knows there are caves and he wants to climb on the large boulders that scatter the sand—but for now, he just stands and enjoys the view.

He can't remember the last time he's had a moment alone to do nothing as purposefully as this. In the months since the end of the war there has been so much to do—attending funerals, trials, press conferences—Harry wasn't sure it would ever stop. He's not sure it really has. His spur of the moment decision to come to New Zealand may only have put a pin in the chaos.

Now he's finally taking a few minutes to stop, Harry isn't sure he's ready to get going again. Forgetting the caves and the boulders for the time being, he slips out of his shoes and takes a few steps towards the shore. The tide meets him and his feet sink a little as the water washes around his ankles.

He's paddling. A smile tugs at his lips as the tide moves out before another small waves washes in. He continues to smile even as his feet sink a little lower. Harry's still smiling when movement up the beach catches his eye and he instinctively turns to look.

Further along the beach there is a man lying on a low boulder. His head propped on a hand, and he's turned to face Harry. Instinctively, Harry pulls his sinking feet from the sand and take a step towards the man, then stops. Tunnel Beach is supposed to be closed to Muggles this time of year, but they could have hiked down, which means they likely witnessed Harry Apparate in. Before Harry really has time to process, the man is sliding from the rock and walking across the sand towards Harry.

The man is tall and lithe, striding casually along the sand in only long black shorts and sunglasses. He's halfway to Harry when he pushes his sunglasses up into his blond hair, and Draco Malfoy is revealed beneath them.

He's still several meters away when Harry voices a shocked, “What are you doing here?”

“Sunbathing. You?” Malfoy replies, unfazed.

As waves continue to wash around his ankles, Harry almost says 'paddling'. He shakes his head, unwilling to believe what he's seeing. “But what are you doing _here?_ ” Harry clarifies. “Are you staying in Dunedin?”

“Yes, I've been here for a couple of months.”

Despite the fact Harry's brain hasn't fully registered that he's standing on the other side of the world chatting with Draco Malfoy, his mouth answers easily. “I've only been here a few days. I didn't expect to see anyone I knew.”

“I assume, then, that we both came here for similar reasons. I cast a location spell to find the furthest place from England.”

“I googled it,” Harry replies, still without thought.

Malfoy frowns. “What's that, a Muggle thing?”

It's then that the shock wears off. It's then that it really sinks in that this is _Draco Malfoy_. It's then that Harry remembers it's only been five months since the end of the war—since Malfoy's arrest—and only a couple of months since Malfoy's trial and release. “The three months you spent in Azkaban weren't enough to rid you of your prejudice, then? Still a Muggle-hating pureblood brat.”

Malfoy's face hardens as he takes a slow breath in through his nose. “Forget it, Potter,” he says before turning and walking away back down the beach.

Harry picks up his shoes and Apparates back to Wulltig Avenue, the small wizarding quarter of Dunedin, to find somewhere to have dinner.

After yet another burger and sweet potato chips at Cadell's Café, Harry spends the evening in his room re-reading the few wizarding tourist leaflets the bed and breakfast owner, Joy, provided for him. It's only when he's lying in bed, unable to sleep that Harry plays the encounter with Malfoy back in his mind. When he thinks of Malfoy's question he can remember him saying 'Muggle thing' and realises there was no derision to Malfoy's tone. That, if anything, he'd sounded mildly curious. In retrospect, Harry's bitter response almost makes him cringe.

It's a long time before Harry sleeps, and as much as he wishes otherwise, he's knows it's not entirely because of the time difference.

~

Harry wakes slowly, as light filters through his eye lids. He thinks of Tunnel Beach; the light colour of the sand, the smell of the sea, and the feeling of his feet disappearing beneath the sand. He sees Malfoy walking towards him, arms swinging by his sides. He hears Malfoy's easy, relaxed, 'Sunbathing, you?' and then the tight, dismissive, 'Forget it, Potter'.

Eye lids snapping open, Harry pushes the memory away as swiftly as he pushes himself out of bed. It's past noon. After a quick shower Harry heads down to breakfast. Joy may tsk unsubtly at his late appearance, but she smiles as she places a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Harry.

By the time he's finished, it's almost one and Harry leaves the bed and breakfast without knowing where he's going to go. He wanders on foot to the wizarding quarter of town, but after walking the same few streets he's already walked half a dozen times over the last few days, his thoughts drift back to the ocean.

He'd meant to explore the caves at Tunnel Beach, but Malfoy's appearance hadn't given him the chance. Weighing up his desire for adventure versus the possibility of running into Malfoy again, Harry quickly ducks into an alley and Apparates.

The sea is rougher, but the beach is as calming as it was the previous day. Instead of wandering to the water and losing himself to the wet sand, Harry glances up and down the shore. He spots Malfoy easily. Harry wonders if he's even left the beach; Malfoy is lying on the same boulder, again wearing only long black shorts and sunglasses.

If Malfoy hears Harry's pop of Apparation, he doesn't show it. He just lays there, hands under his head and legs crossed at the ankles, like he owns the beach. Harry hopes he doesn't own the beach.

With a small sigh, Harry approaches. He clears his throat to announce his presence, but still Malfoy doesn't move or acknowledge him. Standing right beside him, Harry looks down at Malfoy's face, but sees only himself reflected back in the mirrored sunglasses.

He contemplates leaving without a word for a split second, but then he's storming ahead. He has no plan, just opens his mouth.

“I—er. I may have jumped to certain conclusions yesterday. Certain unflattering and possibly no longer true conclusions.”

Malfoy remains unmoved.

“I say possibly, because I didn't give you enough of a chance to show me otherwise. I guess that's why I came back. To see if... otherwise.”

Harry still might as well be talking to himself.

“Guess that doesn't mean you _want_ to prove otherwise...”

Harry trails off, wondering if he's making sense, or if there's even any point. Regardless of whether Malfoy still hates Muggles or not, he obviously still hates Harry. But he didn't hate him enough to not ask a question, or to not come over in the first place. There had been genuine interest when Malfoy had asked about Google, even though Harry had ignored it at first.

“Yes.” Harry decides on a new approach. “Google is a Muggle thing. It's used to search the internet—”

“The internet?” Malfoy asks, finally interested. He turns his face towards Harry and pulls his sunglasses down his nose to look over the top of them. “That's what Kiri is always going on about. She saw this on the internet, she read that on the internet. There's never been a pertinent moment for me ask what the hell she's on about without being decidedly un-Muggle about it.”

Harry thinks he does quite an adequate job of managing to keep his jaw from hitting the sand.

“The internet... it’s… very broadly, it's a way of finding and sharing information.” Harry fumbles to find the right words to explain the internet to a pureblood wizard. “It uses text and images and it's accessed through… electronic visual devices,” he finishes lamely. “People use it for communicating and searching for all kinds of things.”

Malfoy sits up and pushes his glasses up on to the top of his head. “So, it's like a TV you can ask questions to?”

“Yes... but no?” Harry's shock is becoming less shocking. “You know what TV is?”

Malfoy waves a hand dismissively. “There's one at the place I'm staying.”

“So, you’re friends with Muggles now?”

Malfoy shrugs and turns to look out at the sea. “Wizards have been so willing to fight for them, I thought I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

Harry gets the impression it's not quite as simple as that. “And?”

“And what? They’re fine.”

“Just fine?”

“I mean, they don’t have brooms or _Accio_ , but they invented the wheel and make a mean Mojito, so.”

“A Mojito... that's a drink, right?”

“Something Muggle I know more about than you?” Malfoy pulls his sunglasses from his head, tossing them towards the sand before looking at Harry, considering. “You can come drinking with us later if you want.”

“Who is ‘us’?”

“Me and my Muggles.” Malfoy sounds almost affectionate.

Harry can't help but suspect some kind of trap. “Why?”

Malfoy just shrugs. “Why not?”

Harry doesn't have an answer to that.

“Well, we'll be at Speight's by about 8, if you decide to come.” As he speaks, Malfoy slides off his boulder and takes a step away.

“Where's Speight's?” Harry hurries to ask.

Malfoy smirks at Harry then tells him to, “Google it.”

This time when Malfoy walks away, Harry doesn't stop him. Instead he watches as Malfoy wades out into the ocean before diving in and swimming out. By the time Harry's lost sight of Malfoy in the waves, he's wondering if Joy will know where he can find an internet café.

~

Joy doesn't know, but her niece does, and is happy to give Harry directions. Harry’s sure he could just ask her for directions to Speight’s, but something about Malfoy’s challenging smirk refuses to let him. Instead he finds himself at the internet café, Google open and wondering how to spell Speight’s. Google does its magical auto correct and Harry knows the address in minutes.

What Harry doesn't know is whether or not he'll go. He has no real reason not to; it's not as if he's got anything else to do. He'll admit to being intrigued by Malfoy. He can't help but want to know why he's staying somewhere with a TV and where he got his sunglasses from. But Harry's conflicted about Malfoy being the reason for him to go.

Harry’s here to take a step away from his life back in England. To avoid being approached in the streets by people wanting to shake his hand, to keep himself from being accosted by reporters looking for a sound bite or a front page photograph. And yes, he’ll admit, to put a little space between him and his friends. No one here in New Zealand even knows who he is, let alone wants anything from him. Not even Malfoy. He invited Harry along for drinks, but made no demands on him. From what Malfoy said, he’s in New Zealand for similar reasons.

Decision made, Harry checks the time. He only has a few hours to kill until 8:00 pm…

~

When Harry enters the pub at 8 o’clock Malfoy is easy to spot. He is sitting at a corner table with three other people. Harry can hear them talking and laughing, but can't make out what is being said. The table is strewn with plates and bowls and glasses. Harry wonders if he should have arrived sooner.

At the bar Harry orders a pint of Speight's Summit lager. While it's being poured, some of the conversation Malfoy and his friends are having drifts over to Harry.

“...shit yourself every time someone says your name or piss yourself every time you sneeze?”

“That's disgusting, how do you always come up with the worst would you rathers?”

“It's my not-so-hidden talent, now answer the question, Draco.”

“You are a terrible person. Obviously piss myself when I sneeze; I'd get some forewarning of a sneeze, but someone—I'm looking at you, Harper—could say my name just to cause me to shit myself. Also, piss would be marginally less messy.”

“So pragmatic.”

Malfoy doesn't respond, but Harry catches his enigmatic shrug as he approaches with his pint. He's spotted within seconds.

“Potter!” Malfoy smiles and waves him into a chair.

Harry wonders if Malfoy's already a bit drunk. “Malfoy.”

“Potter, these are my Mu—my mates.” He gestures with an open palm to the others around the table. “Kiri, Harper and Taine.”

Each of them gives Harry a little wave. Kiri has rosy cheeks and is drinking pints, Harper smiles slyly and swirls her wine, and Taine reveals a beer foam covered moustaches as he puts down his glass.

“This—” Malfoy throws a thumb at Harry. “—is Potter.”

Harry returns their waves. “Hi, I'm Harry. Nice to meet you.”

“You're British too?” asks Taine.

“Er, yeah, Malfoy and I—”

“Met yesterday. On the beach, for the first time. Ever. Instant bond on the Briton-abroad thing, of course. Potter's only been here a few days, so I thought I'd invite him out, meet the locals, sample the real Dunedin, et cetera.”

Harry's baffled as to why Malfoy doesn't want his friends to know they know each other, but decides to go along with it for now. Thankfully, no one questions it.

“Why the surnames?” Harper asks instead.

“We're British!” Malfoy enthuses. “Very formal, you know. Join right in, Potter. Taine, would you rather be able to read minds or remove memories?”

Taine scratches his beard contemplatively. “Would I be able to remove my own memories?”

“Not without considerable danger,” Malfoy tells him.

As the game starts up again Harry gets swept up in it. It's a little unsettling at first; he came here to get away, from people, from responsibilities, and from life changing choices. But he rolls with it as best he can.

“In that case, read minds,” Taine tells them. “Why would I give a shit about other people's memories?”

“Your empathy astounds me,” Kiri tells him with sarcasm. She turns to Harry. “I've always had my doubts, but our parents assure me he really is my brother.”

“Harper,” begins Taine, “would you rather have no elbows or no knees?”

After a moment’s thought, Harper answers. “No knees. I’d still be able to walk, albeit awkwardly, but without elbows I wouldn’t be able to brush my hair or put on make up.” She pauses, a horrified expression creeping on to her face. “Or wipe my arse!”

Everyone laughs, and Harry is right there with them. He finds himself relaxing into his seat. The joking and the laughter feel good. They feel light and uninhibited.

“Harry,” Harper cries enthusiastically, “Would you rather wear a snow suit in the Sahara or be naked in Antarctica?”

“Erm.”

As Harry ponders the question, everyone else around the table has their eyes on him. Harper is sipping her wine, Kiri and Taine are having a discreet elbow fight, and Malfoy is giving him a small, sly smile.

And Harry gets it. He gets why Malfoy is here, making friends with Muggles. These people don't know he's Harry Potter, Dark Lord Vanquisher. They don't care if he joins the Aurors or gives rousing speeches for the Ministry or gets married to his childhood sweetheart. All they care about is whether he'd rather wear a snow suit in the Sahara or be naked in Antarctica, which at this point, is the kind of question he'd rather answer.

“Naked in Antarctica,” he announces.

His declaration is met with cheers and a wolf whistle. Harry offers no explanation, instead taking a long drink of his pint and hoping it hides his blush.

~

Three pints, two bowls of chips and lots of laughter later, Kiri and Harper stand to leave.

“We're off to 10 Bar, who’s coming?”

“Me.” Taine is quick to answer as he downs the last of his drink. “I'm desperate to dance.”

“Draco?”

Malfoy hums and takes a moment to reply. “No club for me tonight, Harper.”

“What if we stopped at Embassy for a bit of karaoke on the way?” asks Kiri.

“Tempting.” Malfoy smiles up at his friends. “I'll hold you to that next time.”

“What about you, Harry?”

Harry finds he's not really interested in the idea of clubbing, but will admit to himself that he's more than a little intrigued by Malfoy.

“Clubs aren't really my thing.”

Kiri takes a breath and Harry thinks she is going to propose some kind of tempting offer to entice him along, but she doesn't get the chance.

“Come on, Kiri, leave them be. They likely have lots of Briton-abroad bonding to do or some other rubbish.” Harper rolls her eyes.

Harper grabs Kiri's hand and pulls her away. Taine waves goodbye as he trails behind them and says, “See you later.”

Malfoy turns to Harry and gestures with his empty pint glass. “Another drink?”

“Sure.”

After taking their used glasses, Malfoy returns with two full ones. For a few moments they sit opposite each other in silence.

“So... karaoke?”

Malfoy groans into his drink. “Taine introduced me. Took us all one night thinking I'd hate it, but we were all shitfaced and had an amazing time.”

“Your friends are a lot of fun.”

“They really are.”

Harry feels a pang of jealously. As close as he is to Ron and Hermione, he can't remember the last time they played stupid games and laughed till their faces hurt. Though to be fair, they've been busy this last year. It's just that the war's been over for five months, but Harry feels like he's still fighting.

Pulling himself from his thoughts Harry asks, “What was with the instant Briton-abroad bond line?”

Malfoy cringes. “Yeah, sorry about that... If we told them we knew each other, went to school together, they'd have lots of questions.”

“Questions are bad?”

“I came here to leave the past behind and to have fun. Talking about how we hated each other and around the fact that we went to a school where we learnt magic is the opposite of those things.”

Harry again thinks about his friends, and his own reasons for being in Dunedin. “Okay,” he says. “I guess I'm here to do the same, so, okay.”

Malfoy looks at Harry for a few seconds, and Harry can tell he's curious, but he just nods. “So, what have you done so far?”

“I've spent a lot of time in Wulltig Avenue, but there are only a dozen shops and a couple of cafés and I've been in them all at least three times. I've been to Plandas Stone Circle up at Mount Cargill. And of course the Dunedin Magical History of New Zealand museum, which was pretty interesting. But that's all I know about.”

“There aren't that many magical sights to see in this area. The wizarding community in Dunedin is one of the oldest in New Zealand, but it's pretty small. The wizards moved and expanded into the bigger, newer cities, right alongside the Muggles.”

“You seem to know quite a lot about the magical community here, considering you've gone Muggle.”

“I may have spent the first couple of days hiding out in the Magical Traveller Information Centre.”

Harry can't prevent his jaw from slackening; he hadn't even known about it. “Where the hell is that?”

“Tucked away and hard to find.” Malfoy watches Harry over his glass as he drinks before asking, “Why are you here?”

Harry frowns. They've covered this. “Like we said—it's the furthest place—”

Malfoy shakes his head. “I mean, what do you want to do? What's your aim with your time here?”

“Oh.” Harry finds himself fidgeting in his seat when his first thought is, 'to run away'. “Er...”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “It's fine, forget it.” He punctuates this claim by downing the last of his drink.

Assuming Malfoy is preparing to leave, Harry forces words out. “No, it's just—I don't know, really. I didn't travel _to_ something, so much as... I just want to do something different.”

Narrowing his eyes, Malfoy studies Harry for a moment. “I'll show you, if you want, or if you'd rather not bother with the research; I can be your guide. Show you some of the better sights...” He shrugs.

For a moment, Harry's not sure what to say. It might be a case of old habits, but he's a little suspicious of Malfoy. He doesn't think Malfoy's evil or up to no good, but there is something. Three times in two very short days Malfoy has been voluntarily nice and helpful to Harry, and Harry's instincts are telling him there is some reason for it. Something more going on inside Malfoy's head. But does Harry want to know what it is? Does he even care? Accepting Malfoy’s offer doesn’t have to mean he wants to find out, he rationalises.

“I'd like that, thanks.”

Malfoy's lifts his chin in an all too familiar motion. “Of course you would, I’m an excellent tour guide.”

Harry chooses not to pass comment. Instead he asks, “Do you want another drink?”

Again, Malfoy considers for a few seconds. “Yes, I do. Thanks.”

~

They meet the next morning outside Speight’s, although with a meeting time of 11:30 Harry supposes it's closer to afternoon. As drunk as they’d ended up the previous night, they had been sensible enough to know they wouldn’t be up early.

“Morning!” Harry calls when Malfoy rounds the corner into sight.

Malfoy only pulls down his sunglasses and glares. He looks tired.

“Did you even sleep?”

“Some. Two months, but I’m still not used to the time difference and drinking doesn’t usually help.”

“Why don’t you just not drink?”

“It’s not that bad. A nap at the beach in the afternoon tides me over.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing? You said you were sunbathing.”

“With my skin? Heavens no. Protections Charms abound.” Malfoy hides himself back behind his sunglasses and turns away with a smile. “Now, what shall we do? The farmers’ market’s on for another hour, if you fancy it. There’s plenty of local food, drink and crafts available which would make nice gifts to take home for your friends.”

Unwittingly, Harry’s face screws up in irritation; buying presents for the people he left behind in England is not how he plans to spend his time. “If it’s going to close soon, maybe we should skip it. How about getting something to eat? I missed breakfast.”

Malfoy shrugs. “I could eat.”

They buy breakfast bagels from a small nearby deli and start walking.

“I suppose you haven’t spent much time in the Muggle parts of town?” Malfoy enquires before unwrapping his bagel and taking a bite.

“Not unless ducking in and out of alleyways to Apparate counts?”

“Dunedin has nice alleyways, I can’t deny that, but it does have _a little_ more to offer.” Malfoy stops and points to across the street.

On the side of a three story building is large painting of two young girls. They're both holding what look to be fire extinguishers, but instead of water or foam, they are spraying out long lines of dripping, brightly coloured paint.

“It’s incredible,” Harry says, turning away to look at Malfoy. “Are they okay about graffiti here?”

“This isn’t graffiti. It’s part of an art trail. You can pick up a map and follow the route to see them all, but I prefer to wander and discover new pieces randomly.”

Harry looks back up at the artwork with new eyes. “That’s really amazing,”

From the corner of his eye Harry can see Malfoy puff out his chest a little, and Harry’s smile isn’t only for the giant painting.

“Come on, let's nip into Rob Roy Dairy; I fancy a milkshake.” Malfoy says before he leads them away.

In Rob Roy Dairy Malfoy orders them both milkshakes and chats easily to the man behind the counter.

“You off to one of the beaches again?” asks the man as he prepares the drinks.

“Nope, just hanging around town. Might nip into Box of Birds or Scribes.”

“Well, anything's better than being stuck here making milkshakes and ice creams.”

“Rob! How can you say that when you get to serve me?”

“Oh, of course,” says Rob with heavy sarcasm as he places their drinks on the counter, “serving you makes it all worthwhile.”

“Whatever happened to 'the customer is always right'?” Malfoy hands over some New Zealand dollars.

“Is it my customer service that has you in here every other day buying milkshakes?”

“Your drinks are shit, Rob, I come here for your sunny personality.”

“Well, you've had it.” Rob turns away, obviously done with the conversation.

Malfoy laughs. It's a light, joyful sound and Harry is convinced he's never heard it before.

“Bye, Rob!” Malfoy calls cheerfully before handing Harry his drink and leading them out the door.

From there they do visit Box of Birds (a bizarre but wonderful eclectic retro shop) and Scribes (a second hand bookshop so large Harry gets lost), as well as Otago Museum (with fascinating Maori history exhibits) and the Octagon (Harry hadn't known town hall squares could be so picturesque… and not square). And each time, for the rest of the day, it’s rinse and repeat. Almost everywhere they go, and a few times in the street on their way, Malfoy meets people who know him. People who are happy to see him. People who laugh and joke with him. And in one case, a person who openly flirts with him.

Through it all, Malfoy pauses here and there to show Harry more pieces of the art trail. There is a huge piece showing a boy atop someone's shoulders catching clouds with a net; another showing two young kids sitting on a bench, the boy holding a lollipop and looking stunned as the girl kisses him on the cheek; and one Harry particularly likes is of a woman holding up a can of pink paint so it spills down the wall and on to the pavement below.

On one of these occasions Draco stands still for a significant few minutes looking up at the painting. This one's quite large. It shows a bird, made of wire and metal, with its wings spread. Small pieces of metal are scattered behind it and its legs seem to be breaking in its effort to fly free. When Malfoy speaks, it's from closer to Harry than he'd expected.

“This one's my favourite.” Malfoy's voice is quiet, but clear.

Harry doesn't reply. He continues to look at the bird, fighting for its freedom, and wonders what Malfoy sees.

Malfoy doesn't seem to need a response. Soon enough he's leading Harry off in another direction.

“Next stop: Dada Boutique!”

Harry's afternoon is a bit of a whirlwind, and he's not sure he'll be able to retrace his steps or find any of these places again if he wants to. Instead of paying enough attention to the roads they're walking or where these places are, Harry's watching Malfoy. He smiles and waves at all these people he knows—these _Muggles_ —and Harry can’t help but smile and shake his head in wonder each time.

By late afternoon Harry's sure he's seen everything (and everyone) Dunedin town has to offer. His feet ache and, despite the claustrophobic feeling of Apparition, he's currently completely enamoured with the ability.

Harry and Malfoy are sitting on a bench overlooking the harbour and eating ice cream. The heat of the spring day has crept up on them and they eat in silence. Harry has a Mr Whippy with raspberry sauce, and Malfoy has a Twister. He tries to keep his eyes on the harbour, because Malfoy's ice cream eating habits are obscene. Because he's not looking, Harry doesn't know Malfoy's actually finished until he speaks.

“I was thinking we could go on Speight's brewery tour.”

“They do tours?” Harry couldn't miss that the pub was attached to a rather sizeable brewery, but hadn't known they let the public inside.

“Yep. I went on it a few weeks after I got here. It's really interesting. For about a week after I wanted to start my own brewery.”

“For only a week? What put you off?”

“Oh, nothing, but Harper took me to Watercooled and I decided I want to be a professional windsurfer.”

Harry takes a few seconds to imagine Malfoy in a wetsuit before asking, “If you go again, are you likely to leave wanting to be a brewer again?”

“There is a fair probability,” Malfoy says without jest.

“As much as I actually do want to witness that, I'm knackered and that ice cream did nothing for my energy levels.”

As if voicing it was the key, Harry yawns. Within seconds, Malfoy has caught it and they both cover their mouths with their hands.

“Ditto, apparently,” Malfoy admits. “I did miss my nap.”

“We should have gone to Tunnel Beach; I want to explore the caves, but all I've found there so far is you.”

“All you've done is interrupt my naps. I'm far more interesting than the caves, anyway.”

Harry doesn't say anything, but can't disagree.

“You out again with your friends tonight?” he asks instead.

“No. I usually would be, but Taine has to work and Harper has taken Kiri home with her for the weekend.”

“Harper doesn't live in Dunedin?”

“Kiri and Harper are at university here in Dunedin, but Harper is from Nelson, at the north of the island. Taine is a graphic designer and occasionally has to work weekends.”

“Oh. What will you be doing then?”

“Staying in. Resting. Maybe watching some TV.”

Harry isn't getting over the idea of Malfoy watching TV any time soon, and Malfoy's small chuckle makes it clear that he knows it.

“Will I... see you tomorrow?” Harry feels awkward asking. It's not like Malfoy has to keep showing him around, but...

“Of course. My grand tour is only just getting started, Potter. You'll not be rid of me that easily.”

When Harry laughs, he tells himself it's not in relief.

~

When he gets back to his room Harry barely manages to toe off his shoes before he falls into bed. He wakes up several hours later in the dark, still fully clothed. He feels rested and ready for the day, but when he checks the time it's only 6:00 am.

Feeling too awake to sleep again, Harry gets up. He looks around his sparse room—at the over read leaflets on the desk, his dirty clothes on the floor, and his suitcase laying open under the window. He doesn't even bother changing before Apparating away.

He smells the salt water and hears the waves before he opens his eyes. He smiles at how familiar and peaceful a place he's only been to twice can feel. There is a cool breeze and when Harry does look the beach is a dreary pre-dawn grey. The sea foams an energetic white, and the sand is a dull beige beneath his feet. He realises he hasn't even put his shoes back on, and leans over to remove his socks and shove them in his pockets.

“Again, Potter?”

The voice is quiet, barely disturbing the sounds of the waves. It drifts over to Harry from nearby and he sees Malfoy sitting on a boulder, wearing an over-large jumper just a few meters away.

Harry's starting to think he shouldn't be surprised. “Are you sure you only nap here?” he practically whispers back.

He makes his way over, bare feet sinking in the cool, damp sand, and climbs up on the large boulder to sit beside Malfoy.

“I don't think I'll ever adjust to the time zone and I've given up trying. I just roll with my body clock now. I've seen this beach at every moment of the day and night, I'm fairly sure.”

“What's your favourite time to see it at?”

“About one or two o'clock in the morning, so long as the moon's not too bright and the sky is clear.”

“Isn't it too cold at that time of night?”

Malfoy makes a show of twirling his wand between his fingers. “Not really.”

“Thanks,” Harry blurts. “For today. Or—” He considers. “—yesterday, now.”

Harry sees Malfoy shrug and realises it's slowly becoming brighter and less grey. As another breeze brushes his skin, Harry considers using his wand, but decides he's enjoying the fresh morning air.

“S'okay. I just showed you a few of the places I enjoy going to anyway.”

“I could tell.”

“Tell what?”

“That you liked the places. That you like it here, generally.”

“Yeah, I do.” Malfoy's voice is light, honest. He lies down on the rock, looking up at the lightening sky.

After a moment's silence, Harry lies down too. “You seem different here. You smile, you’re happy.” He pauses. “You’re nice to me.”

Malfoy snorts, but doesn't say anything.

Harry turns to look at Malfoy, who's still looking upwards. “You don’t think you’re being nice to me?”

“No, that’s—I am, yes. Or, at least, I’m not being mean to you.”

“There's a difference?”

Malfoy seems to consider the question. “I think so, yes.”

“Well, be sure to let me know when you're being nice.”

Without looking away from the sky above them, Malfoy smiles. “Will do.”

“You're nice to your friends, surely? Harper and the others.”

“Of course I am.” Malfoy sounds affronted and turns to glare at Harry. It's only then that Harry realises Malfoy hasn't got his sunglasses on. His grey iris are much brighter than the early morning light, and Harry finds he can't look away.

Harry smiles. “Then there's hope for me yet.”

“That hope dwindles every time you open your mouth, Potter.” Malfoy looks back to the sky, watching as the clouds slowly drift apart.

“Be a grumpy sod if you must, but I saw you today. The way you smiled and laughed with people, the way you moved through the streets. I was surprised at first, but you're genuinely happy here.”

For a few moments, Harry doesn't think Malfoy is going to reply. When he does, he speaks slowly, thoughtfully.

“I was an angry person… before. An angry, moody, fucked up teenager. I still am, really.” He pauses. “But I'm learning not to take that out on other people. I'm trying to take people as they come. I’ve got to try and enjoy people while I can, because eventually we all die alone, right?”

Harry doesn’t respond right away. He isn't sure that he's going to. When he died he wasn’t alone—he’d had his parents, Sirius and Remus. Even after, he’d had Dumbledore. The story of what happened came out after the war; everyone knows Harry survived another Avada Kedavra. But no one knows what happened as he walked into the forest.

“That might not be so bad. All my life I've had people with me, around me, guiding his life. Even orchestrating my death. They did their best for me, and in terms of the big picture I know it was necessary, and in that way I'm glad, but...” He can't help but resent it a little as well, is what he can't quite bring himself to say.

“You're glad you're life was controlled?” There is a vehemence in Malfoy's voice that Harry suspects is not solely on Harry's behalf.

“I'm glad I had people around me that cared—” Harry falters as he thinks of the Dursleys, of the first 11 years of his life and the fact that he hadn't had a choice in that. He knows he was there to keep him safe and _alive_ ; he understands Dumbledore's decision and can't hate him for it. But that doesn't mean he's pleased about it.

He understands why Kingsley's keen for confirmation of his Auror application. He understands why Hermione arranges for him to attend meetings at the Ministry. He understand why Ginny keeps asking if he'll visit her at Hogwarts. …But that doesn't mean he appreciates it.

That’s why he ran halfway around the world, after all.

“People can care about you, but still hurt you. I came here get away from that—to get away from people, generally.”

Harry can feel Malfoy freeze before he starts to edge away. “Sorry, I—”

“No—not—I mean…” Harry trails off, but thankfully Malfoy stays where he is. “Not literally, but... my friends, my life…” For a few long moments the silence is almost palpable. “Since the end… since everything, it’s kind of just assumed that I’m going to do certain things, act a certain way. I’m just not ready for that, or if I even want that, and I don’t know how to explain that. It doesn’t help that I don’t know what I _do_ want to do. It’s like, being a poster boy Auror and settling down is what I’m _supposed_ to do and there is nothing else—I feel like I’m just delaying the inevitable.”

“Bollocks.”

Malfoy's outburst startles Harry out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Bollocks. I’m sorry, but there’s not nothing else—there is _everything_ else. There’s travelling and meeting new people—I might be a bias fan of that one—there's teaching at Hogwarts, playing professional Quidditch, working in a coffee shop, going clubbing every night. You’re Harry bloody Potter, you could pretty much do anything.

“Pretty much?”

“Well, I suppose you _could_ be a rent boy, but would you want to?”

Harry smiles. “I could be a Curse Breaker or tame dragons.” His smile turns sly. “Maybe be a brewer or professional windsurfer.”

“Now you're getting it.” Malfoy leans towards Harry, knocking their shoulders together briefly.

“I could travel the world for years, or work for _The Daily Prophet_.” That idea in particular tickles Harry and he laughs. “I could make racing brooms or be a Healer...” Harry's amusement fades as he considers that last one. Being a healer doesn't sound so ridiculous.

Malfoy lies back down beside him, but Harry looks out to the sea, and he sees the sun starting to rise, turning the sky pink.

“I could do anything…”

~

After parting ways with Malfoy at the beach Harry accidentally finds himself back in bed not long past 8am, napping. He finds it hard to drag himself out again a few hours later. But the fact that he's arranged to meet Malfoy outside Speight's at 11:30 is incentive enough for him to manage it. Just.

He waves off Joy's offer of breakfast, knowing he's missed the cut off time, again, and not wanting to inconvenience her, again. He figures he can go back to the bagel place, or Malfoy will know of somewhere else he can grab something to eat.

When Harry arrives as Speight's Malfoy is already there. He's leaning on the wall, head tipped back and mirrored sunglasses firmly in place. He doesn't move as Harry approaches, and with the way Harry feels himself, he wonders if Malfoy's getting his nap in early.

“Where to today?” Harry asks.

Malfoy lifts his head from the wall, slowly followed by his body. “Dunedin Botanic Garden. But first, breakfast.”

“Thank Merlin, I'm starving.”

They have crepes, and while Malfoy goes for a modest lemon and sugar, Harry may go a little overboard with chocolate spread, whipped cream and blueberries. Malfoy's mild look of alarm as he orders doesn't deter Harry. When Harry takes his first large bite and ends up with whipped cream all over his face, Malfoy's laughter doesn't bother him; it's delicious.

As they eat, Malfoy leads the way to the botanic garden.

“So yesterday was pretty busy, going to lots of places.” Malfoy pauses to take a bite of his crepe. “And after the broken night we both had, I figured the garden was a good place to show you today.” 

“Because there are plenty of places to relax and have an inconspicuous nap?”

Malfoy doesn't take his eyes from his crepe, but a smile creeps across his face.

The botanic garden is, Harry thinks, pretty much a big park. There are wide winding paths, lush green trees, colourful blooming flowers and inviting grassy spots. There's a large Edwardian greenhouse and elaborate gates at each entrance that make Harry think of Hogwarts. He _loves_ it.

Malfoy, obviously having been here before, commentates with bits of information here and there, almost like a genuine tour guide.

“The Peter Pan and Wendy statues were donated in the 1960s after being crafted and cast in England.” Malfoy says as they pass two bronze statues that Harry thinks look kind of creepy. He's glad when they move swiftly on.

“The original bandstand only cost £300 when it was build. No wonder it only lasted 15 years before they had to replace it.” Malfoy tells Harry as they pass the rather nondescript building, looking sad and wasted sans band.

“This sculpture was selected out of 16 proposals to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the garden. It's my favourite.”

The sculpture they're standing in front of is a long metal tube with a pattern that almost looks like scales.

“Of course it's your favourite, it's a snake.”

Malfoy turns, looking aghast at Harry. “It's a _worm_ , Potter.”

Harry shrugs. “Pretty much the same thing.”

“I shouldn't be surprised. With a teacher like Hagrid it's a miracle any of us know the difference between a Knarl and a Niffler.”

“Hey, Malfoy—”

“He's your friend, I know.” Malfoy interrupts before Harry's defensive rant can even start. “He might be a lovely chap—I don't know, I never spent much time with him. But Potter, that doesn't make him a good teacher.”

Shocked at Malfoy's objectivity, Harry doesn't respond right away. He still wants to defend Hagrid—yes, his _friend_ —but then he remembers getting burnt by Blast-Ended Skrewts and overfeeding Flobberworms. He decides not to respond.

“So,” he starts instead, “why is this your favourite?”

Malfoy grins. “Because of this.” He strides over the long metal sculpture before stepping up onto the trailing end and walking its length.

“What the hell, Malfoy? Get down!” Harry scrambles to pull Malfoy the one foot back to the floor, but Malfoy dodges his hand and speeds his way along the sculpture.

“It's _made_ for climbing on, Potter. Do calm down.” Malfoy effortlessly climbs the hump of the worm before jumping back to the ground.

As they continue to wander, so does Harry's mind. Around him are flowers blooming in the bright spring sun, and he can't help but compare them to the wet and dreary brown leaves that covered the autumn ground in England when he left. Everything here is coming alive and Harry can feel it invigorating him. 

Seeing nature come alive gives him hope. As they walk the paths through the rhododendron dell, full of colour and life, Harry idly considers staying in Dunedin for the summer. Only going back to England for the spring, when autumn rolls around here. Maybe he would come back here next year, and spend his time in a perpetual spring and summer season.

Harry steps out from the shade of a large rhododendron and lifts his face to the light. He could visit spring in all parts of the world. He thinks he could enjoy that—constantly travelling, chasing the sun.

They eat at the garden café before retreating to the daffodil garden for Malfoy's afternoon nap. Harry doesn't plan on sleeping, but finds himself dozing with a small smile on his face.

Malfoy doesn't nap for too long, and when he wakes up, they don't move.

“How often do you come here?” Harry asks.

He can see Malfoy shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Whenever it's garden weather, rather than beach.”

“What's the difference?”

A moment or two passes before Malfoy answers. “It's... I don't know, fresher or something. A slight breeze that makes me think of grass, rather than the kind of heat that demands sand and sea air. I can just feel it—can't you?”

Harry thinks he can.

When they do eventually get up, Malfoy leads them past the herb, water and rose gardens, back past the greenhouse and herbaceous boarders before stopping at the knot garden.

“It's a replica of one of Shakespeare's knot gardens.”

“Shakespeare had knot gardens?”

“He was a keen gardener. Must have been, the number of flowers he referenced in his writing.”

“How many?”

“Over 50. Not to mention more general references.” Malfoy leans over the small hedge to touch the petals of a green flower. “ _Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it_ , for example.”

Malfoy seems to draw into himself as he speaks, as though he's forgotten entirely that Harry is there. Then without warning, he grins up at Harry before leaping over the hedge and into the knot garden.

“I _know_ you're not supposed to be in there.” Despite his words, Harry doesn't rush to drag Malfoy back like he did with the worm.

“Ten points to Gryffindor!” Malfoy cries cheerfully as he jumps across the flowers beneath him and over the next hedge.

“Be careful of the flowers,” is all Harry can manage.

“Not all of us are as flat footed and clumsy as you.”

And Harry can see that Malfoy isn't. He's graceful and light, easily avoiding the plants and only treading on soil. Harry thinks back to his uncoordinated attempted at dancing at the Yule Ball, and can't help but imagine Malfoy gliding effortlessly across the ballroom.

“Not all of us are as arrogant as you.” Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Harry trails after Malfoy from the safety of the path.

“When did you get so silly and audacious, anyway?” Harry has to ask.

“When I decided to stop caring what people thought and just do what seems fun.”

“And gatecrashing a knot garden is fun?”

“When it's obviously annoying you? Definitely.”

By the time Malfoy hops out of the garden back to where he's supposed to be, Harry just rolls his eyes.

“You're a menace,” he tells Malfoy.

“I've always been a menace. Never had you pegged for a killjoy though, Potter.”

In lieu of a quick enough retort, Harry pushes Malfoy in the shoulder. It's enough to unbalance him, and Malfoy stumbles back into the hedge.

“Potter, you menace!”

Harry just laughs.

~

On Monday they spend a couple of hours hanging around in Dunedin town. They grab some food, and Malfoy takes Harry to Baldwin Street, just north of the centre of town.

“It's the steepest street in the world,” Malfoy announces as the stand at the bottom if it.

Harry can believe it. It if wasn't for the houses lining either side and cars parked on the road, it wouldn't look out of place as part of a roller coaster. 

“Once every winter they throw thousands of chocolate balls down it for charity.”

“And why are we here?”

“Because every summer—” Malfoy pauses to turn and smile at Harry. Harry's stomach flips. Then it flops... “—there's a race. Go!”

Malfoy moves before he's even finished the word, but Harry is only a fraction of a second behind him. Despite the adrenaline, it's a slow race. Baldwin Street is steep, but it's also long. Harry doesn't feel he's running so much as climbing.

By the time they make it to the top, Malfoy's too out of breath to gloat at beating Harry by a few seconds. Malfoy's had practice, Harry's sure, but he's too out of breath himself to bitch about it.

With little energy left between them, once they're breathing normally again they agree to find a spot to Apparate to Tunnel Beach.

“Did you mention before you want to see the caves?”

“Yeah, I'd heard there were caves here. I'd planned to look, but got distracted.” He stares at Malfoy pointedly.

Malfoy, looking the picture of innocence, simply says, “Well, now's the perfect time. Come along, Potter.”

The cave Malfoy takes Harry to is long like a sand-lined corridor. It's nice, but not very exciting.

“Is this it?”

“You see, Potter, I'm much more interesting than dreary old caves.” Malfoy admonishes. “But no, this isn't it.”

Further down the beach is another cave. This one is larger and darker, only lit by the narrow entrance and a couple of cracks in the cliff face. Harry takes several steps deeper into the cave, and the sand gives way to rocks. He climbs up on a low one, but it's unexpectedly damp and Harry almost slips right off it.

The nervous laughter that escapes Harry echoes through the cave, reverberating back to him in an eerie mockery of the original sound.

The little light there is suddenly dims further and goosebumps appear on Harry's skin, despite the mild temperature. He spins around to find Malfoy standing in the cave entrance.

“You coming?” Harry asks, suddenly realising how much he'd prefer the company in here.

“I...” Malfoy hesitates, but Harry can't read his backlit face. “I don't particularly enjoy it in this cave.”

Somewhat surprised by Malfoy's honesty, Harry choose to be candid. “I'm not thrilled about it myself,” he admits, trying not to think about the last cave he'd entered, “but what kind of Gryffindor would I be if I did explore it? Come on, Malfoy; get in here.”

“What kind of Slytherin would I be if I didn't consider my self-preservation?” Despite his words, Malfoy moves further into the cave.

Only a few metres across the slippery rocks and the light becomes even more sparse. The only sound is their own breathing, and it's making everything creepier. Harry wishes he hadn't goaded Malfoy into coming in. He wishes he'd declared this cave just as dull as the last. He wishes—

“I can't see a bloody thing.” Malfoy's frustrated voice echoes around the cave, and it only seems to rile him up further. “ _Reducto!_ ”

Harry turns in time to see Malfoy's spell leave his wand in the direction of the cave entrance. “Fuck! _Protego!_ ” Harry grabs Malfoy and pulls him down under his shield, but no debris rains down.

Seconds later, Malfoy is shaking off Harry's grip. “Way to overreact, Potter.”

“Me overreact? You're the one who cast an exploding spell!”

“A controlled exploding spell, to find more light.”

“You could've buried us alive!”

“But I _didn't_.”

“You could've just cast a _Lumos_.”

“That's—” Malfoy falters, obviously he hadn't considered that. He recovers quick enough. “Well, I didn't. And neither did you. And my spell worked, so why are we arguing?”

Harry opens his mouth to tell Malfoy exactly why, but he stops when he realises he can see the genuine question in Malfoy's eyes. As well as the slight flush to his cheeks and the fact that he's putting his wand away. It really is a lot brighter.

“I guess it doesn't matter,” Harry admits as he looks over to the entrance. The opening is wider and taller, with a new spattering of rocks across the floor. “The Muggles will wonder about that, you know.”

Malfoy shrugs. “They haven't been allowed on Tunnel Beach for months—they'll chalk it up to a violent high tide and be a little more careful in future.”

“You've got an answer for everything, haven't you?”

Malfoy smiles, but crosses his arms and doesn't respond.

Harry looks back into the cave, which he can see more clearly now in with the extra light. Instead of the creepy unknown of before, it's more wet rocks and algae-covered walls.

“Shall we go back to the beach?” He asks.

“Finally—I could do with a nap.”

~

The following day they go on a trek into the hills inland from the town. There are no races up the steep paths, and no naps under the shade of trees. Instead, once they get high enough, there are breath-taking views of the land and sea below.

“This is amazing,” Harry utters, captivated by the sight.

His view is quickly interrupted by Malfoy, who moves forward towards the ledge. Harry frowns, distracted by Malfoy and wondering what the hell he's up to.

Feet inches from the edge, Malfoy leans over and looks down. Instinctively Harry steps forward, an arm outstretched to Malfoy.

“It's head spinning, looking straight dow—no, shit!” Malfoy's arms begin waving in an attempt to regain the balance he's just lost.

Harry is there in a split second, grabbing Malfoy's wrist and pulling him back several steps.

“Careful, Potter, you'll dislocate my shoulder,” Malfoy moans as he rubs at his arm.

“Rather a dislocated shoulder than an inside out skull.”

“Rather magic than a sharp tug.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Why were you looking right over the edge, anyway? Have you been here so often you're bored of that view?” Harry throws out an arm to indicate the astonishing scene. His eyes follow, and he's once again enthralled by the expanse of land and glittering, endless sea.

“I've only been up here once before,” Malfoy tells him. “It's quite an effort trekking up here, but... with views like this, I couldn't not show you.”

Malfoy's words are enough to pull Harry's attention and he turns to see Malfoy staring resolutely out at the world below them.

“Thank you.”

At Harry's words, Malfoy's chin lifts just a fraction. “Ditto,” he says quickly. “It's better that some mouldy old caves, at any rate.”

Harry can't disagree, and he turns back to the view smiling.

~

On Wednesday it rains. A lot. And so they go nowhere.

Malfoy's staying in a quirky little bed and breakfast not far from Speight's, and he plonks himself down on the sofa in the communal living room.

“Everyone else is out,” he tells Harry. “Maniacs.” Malfoy glances out of the window, but all that's visible are streaks of rain.

“What New Zealand wonders can you show me from here then, Tour Guide Malfoy?”

Without hesitating Malfoy picks up a remote control from the coffee table and waves it at Harry.

“Daytime television. Let's make popcorn!”

As quickly as he flopped onto the sofa, Malfoy is up again disappearing into the kitchen. Harry follows. He finds Malfoy rooting through a cupboard before triumphantly pulling out a packet and moving over to the microwave.

“You know how to use a microwave?” Harry asks, somewhat sceptically.

“It's not that hard, so long as I remember to flick the wall button.” As he speaks, Malfoy does indeed lean across to the plug socket by the microwave and turn it on.

Watching Malfoy watch the popcorn cooking is one of the best things Harry has seen since he arrived in Dunedin. The Arthur Weasley-like wonder in Malfoy's face as the kernels begin to pop and the bag expands is so pure and unexpected that Harry has to look away.

“Where are the bowls?” Harry opens a random cupboard, but it's full of tinned food.

“Third on the left.” Malfoy speaks without looking away from the microwave. Harry knows, because he sneaks a glance before moving to grab a bowl.

By the time they're sitting on the sofa, a small bowl of popcorn each and the TV turned on, Harry feels more settled.

Malfoy flicks through several channels before sticking with one showing an omnibus of a programme called Shortland Street. They watch it for a couple of hours, and despite himself, Harry gets sucked it. It reminds him of the British soaps Aunt Petunia used to watch. However, where she looked down on the characters on the shows, thinking herself better than them, Malfoy... Malfoy is different.

“Come on, Rachel, you're better than that. You might be drinking too much, but I'm sure you can tell Chris is about to cheat on your with your supposed best friend. Donna may care, but not enough. Neither of them do.” Malfoy thrusts a hand into his second bowl of popcorn and fills his mouth. “Don't fall for it, Rachel,” he says around half-chewed popcorn. “You can be a better person without them—leave them both behind and sober up on your own terms.”

Sometime during the fifth episode, a cat appears. It jumps up onto the sofa and curls itself easily in the space between Harry and Malfoy. Harry frowns down at it. He's not _not_ a cat person, but something about this creature has already bothered him. When Malfoy's hand appears and starts absent-mindedly stroking the cat and rubbing behind its ears, Harry's mouth pinches. He quickly looks away, back to the programme, and decides he doesn't care about cats.

~

Thursday is dry, but overcast. It's certainly neither a beach nor a garden day. Malfoy decides it's a train day.

They take a four hour round trip on a scenic route to Middlemarch, inland from Dunedin. Though Harry isn't bothered about the details. Instead, he's awestruck by the landscape. The views from their hike a few days ago were gorgeous, but the scenery on this trip is on another level.

An hour into the journey the miserable sky has cleared, leaving white fluffy clouds dotting a bright blue sky. The hills and valleys are lush with green and Harry can't tear his eyes away from the window.

Being on a long train journey with picturesque views and commotion up and down the carriage makes Harry think of the Hogwarts Express. For a while, as he gazes out of the window, he's caught up in memories of buying out the sweet trolley, Mimbulus Mimbletonia pus, and upside down _Quibblers_. Eventually he pulls himself back to the present and turns away from the view. Inside the train, instead of Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna and Ginny sitting with him, there is Malfoy.

Malfoy smiles at him. “Where did you go?”

“I was on the Hogwarts Express,” Harry admits.

“It's certainly not dissimilar.” Malfoy nods. “Though this journey is a few hours shorter, and doesn't actually take us anywhere.” As he speaks Malfoy turns to look out of the window.

Harry looks at Malfoy. His face is relaxed, a small smile on his lips. The wind from the open window is sending his fine blond hair in all directions. Harry wonders what it would have been like to ride the Hogwarts Express with Malfoy. Not the altercations they often had on board, but sharing a compartments like this. As two blokes who actually get along, as friends, as—as something more than what they always have been.

The moment is ruined when Malfoy turns back to Harry with a mischievous grin.

“And we could never do _this_ on the Hogwarts Express.”

In an instant Malfoy is climbing on to his seat and leaning his head out of the window. He doesn't stop there, though. His neck, shoulders and upper torso follow.

“Malfoy,” Harry hisses, “what that f—”

He's interrupted by Malfoy's triumphant, “Whoooooooo!”

Despite himself, Harry smiles at the sheer joy in Malfoy's voice. The wind is whipping Malfoy's hair back from his face and there's joy is in his eyes, too. But there's something else. A determined set to Malfoy's features that makes Harry feel strangely... proud. Also rather concerned, as Malfoy crawls another inch out of the window.

“Be bloody careful,” Harry tells him, though he's not even sure Malfoy can hear him.

Harry reaches his hands up and grips Malfoy's waist to ensure he doesn't slip right out. Malfoy's skin is warm under his t-shirt, and Harry has no urge to let go.

A few minutes later one of the conductors bustles his way down the carriage towards them. He has a large moustache which seems to twitch in irritation with his every step. Harry tugs lightly on Malfoy's waist, but he either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it.

“Please keep all limbs inside the train carriage at all times.” Despite the pleasantry, there is no kindness in the conductor’s voice.

Harry pulls hard on Malfoy's waist, and this time Malfoy bothers to turn his head. He sees the conductor standing with his hands on his hips and extracts himself from the window, rejoining Harry back on the train. He plasters on an ingratiating smile.

“I'm terribly sorry, sir,” Malfoy enthuses to the conductor. “I'm just so overwhelmed by the beauty of New Zealand.”

Although Harry's not sure if it's Malfoy's exaggerated British accent or the sincere compliment to the country, the conductor's moustache stop twitching and his shoulders sag slightly.

“For passengers' safety we ask you remain _inside_ the train. There are open air platforms between carriages, but again we must insist you keep yourself behind the railings.”

“Of course, sir, I understand completely and I do apologise.”

The conductor nods once before spinning around to walk back up the carriage. While the conductor's back is turned, Malfoy winks at Harry and sticks his head—and thankfully _only_ his head—back out of the window.

~

The next day dawns bright and clear and blustery. Harry opens his curtains with a smile, despite the fact his sleep is still not fully on New Zealand time.

He meets Malfoy as usual, and they get a takeaway breakfast, as usual. They wander the streets while they eat, as usual. It's strange how a routine has formed in a week, and Harry already takes such comfort in it.

This morning they also spot a new painting on the street art trail. It's tucked away beneath a gated alleyway, but it's so bright it's hard to miss. It shows several purple birds, wings spread, surrounded by thousands of pink dots. It brings such colour and life to the otherwise empty space and Harry loves it.

As they carry on walking, Harry's steps feel a little lighter. The sun on his face is warm, and he has the urge to feel the sea breeze on his skin.

“Can we go to Tunnel Beach today?” Harry asks.

“You don't need to ask my permission; you can go where you like.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I know, but it's a beach day. The bright sun, the warmth—it's a day for sea and sand, can't you feel it?”

A smile creeps on to Malfoy's face as he turns to face the sun. “I think you're right.” He checks his watch as he leads Harry down a nearby alley. “When you Apparate, make sure to land on my napping boulder, though.”

Harry frowns. “Why?”

“Just trust me,” are Malfoy's parting words before he Dissaparates with a pop.

When Harry appears at Tunnel Beach with his own pop, he's glad he trusted Malfoy. Where the golden sand of the beach usually is, there is only water. It laps up at the boulder, almost reaching Harry's feet. He takes a step back, and into Malfoy.

“High tide,” Malfoy says quietly, close as he is to Harry's ear.

“It's... wetter,” Harry observes.

“We won't be building sand castles, that's for sure. I might go for a swim, though.”

Harry looks out at the water, which looks more than a little lively as waves crash against the rocks, the cliff faces and each other. The wind whirls across the surface and up and down the enclosed bay. It is _not_ safe for swimming.

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” Harry tells him.

“What? Why?”

“It just looks a little dangerous.”

Malfoy's studies Harry through narrowed eyes, and Harry just _knows_ he's questioning Harry's Gryffindor bravery. He decides to beat Malfoy to some disparaging comment.

“There's a difference between brave and stupid, Malfoy.”

“There is, but do _you_ know what it is?” He doesn't wait for Harry to answer. “Fine, no swimming.”

Instead, Malfoy turns to the cliff face behind them, at the very back of the beach. His eyes rove over the rock for a few moments before Malfoy reaches up with both hands. Malfoy makes it only a couple of feet before he has to stop and pull his wand from its holster. What spell Malfoy uses, Harry isn't sure, but it helps him climb the almost sheer cliff face several more feet in the next couple of minutes.

The cliff looks to be about 15 to 20 metres high, and Malfoy is soon halfway up. Harry's wand is in his hand, ready to cast should Malfoy fall. He takes a moment to shake his head and wonder if he should have just let the sod go swimming.

Fifteen minutes later Malfoy reaches the top. He sits with his feet dangling over the edge, looking down at Harry. The smug wanker even has the audacity to smile and wave.

“Your turn, Potter,” he calls.

Harry thinks Malofy is bonkers. After a gobsmacked moment, Harry simply rolls his eyes and Apparates up to Malfoy.

“You're bonkers,” Harry informs Malfoy.

They sit side by side, both with their legs over the edge. Harry casts a few swift spells, to keep them safe in case of a fall—or if Malfoy maddens him so much Harry decides to give him a push.

“I'm free,” Malfoy whispers so quietly Harry almost doesn't hear him.

“Free from what?”

Malfoy looks over at Harry with wide eyes, perhaps shocked that Harry had heard him.

“Everything,” he says. “Here, away from England, I'm not who I used to be. This is a place where this—” Malfoy holds out his left forearm, where the Dark Mark is faded, but clearly visible. “—doesn't mean anything. Where I'm not just some rich pureblood snob. Hell, when the only money I have is from my personal French bank account, I'm certainly not rich. I'm trying my damned hardest not to be a sodding snob. And the pureblood thing, well, there's nothing I can do about that...” He trails off anticlimactically.

Harry opens his mouth—to tell Malfoy he's _not_ a rich pureblood snob, that his Dark Mark doesn't have to mean the obvious. Harry wants to tell Malfoy that he feels exactly the same, that being away from England has freed him from the expectations of his friends. But Harry closes his mouth without saying any of that, because it's never so simple.

Instead Harry knocks his shoulder to Malfoy's before lifting his arm to drop it over Malfoy's shoulders. Malfoy gives Harry some suspicious side-eye, but doesn't pull away.

“If the pureblood thing's that much of a bother, you'll have to marry a Muggle and dirty up the bloodline.”

Malfoy slides out from under Harry's arm before giving him a firm push with both hands. Harry laughs and almost slips from the cliff edge, but as soon as Malfoy's hands have pushed, they're pulling him back again.

“Find me a Muggle who can put up with me and I'll consider it.”

“To be fair, it doesn't have to be a Muggle, I'm sure a Muggleborn or even a Half-blood would muddy you up just as well.”

Malfoy doesn't push Harry this time. He just turns and studies him. Harry becomes very interested in the clump of grass beside his right thigh.

“I'm sure they would,” Malfoy concedes.

~

When Harry wakes on Saturday he realises it's been a week since Malfoy became his tour guide. The time has flown, but they've done so much. Harry finds himself worrying there isn't much left for Malfoy to show him. Then he remembers the farmers’ market they didn't go to last week and relaxes.

As soon as Malfoy shows up outside of Speight's, Harry says, “Shall we go to the farmers’ market today?”

Malfoy stops a couple of metres from Harry. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Morning, yeah, but, the farmers’ market?”

“You demanded the beach yesterday, the market today. I don't think you need Tour Guide Malfoy any more.”

“Can I at least keep Surprisingly Good Company Malfoy?” Except Harry finds he's not that surprised any more.

“With a heartfelt compliment like that, who am I to refuse? The farmers’ market it is.”

“What about breakfast?”

“There's food there.”

And there is. A lot of it. There are bagel and crepe stalls, but also several bakery stalls, a few cafés, a couple of coffee shops and a juicery. Not to mention the pie and tart trucks. Harry eats a lot before he even spots one of the cheese stalls.

Feeling less bitter than last week, Harry does at least _think_ about his friends. He doesn't yet buy anything, but he window shops. There are array of coffee beans that would please Hermione; Ron would love the jams and honeys—or any of the food, really; he'd get loads of seeds for Neville; local art supplies for Dean; and the locally brewed bottles of ale have Seamus' name all over then.

In fact, other than filling themselves up on fresh food, a couple of bottles of ale each are all he and Malfoy buy. When the market eventually closes they head to a park across the road. Malfoy conjures up a bottle opener and they sit on the grass drinking their beers.

“I'm glad we made it to the market this week,” Harry says as he opens his second bottle.

“Me too.” Malfoy lifts his second beer and clinks it against Harry's. “To the farmers’ market.”

“To the amazing food and drink,” Harry counters, with a second clink.

“We shouldn't stop the drinking here.”

“We can't buy more; the market’s closed.”

“If you're taking Tour Guide Malfoy's recommendations from a week ago, you will recall he also recommended Speight's brewery tour.”

Harry's slightly intoxicated eyes widen. “ _Yes!_ ”

By the time they finish their drinks and make it across town to Speight's, they're in time to book on to the 4:00 pm tour.

“Let's get the tour and two course meal at the bar deal,” Malfoy says. “The tour'll finish about 5:30 and we can head straight to the bar for dinner.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees easily.

Harry is sure the brewery tour is highly informative, but unfortunately he doesn't retain many of the facts. He's far too busy trying the samples of beer he's given and staring at Malfoy. Despite the fact that Malfoy's been on the tour previously, he listens with rapt attention at the brewer tells them all about the malts and the hops and the yeast. Harry smiles at the idea of Malfoy becoming encouraged all over again to become a brewer.

Once the tour is over they're led through to a gift shop. Harry is just tipsy enough to buy a black Speight's baseball cap, thanks in part to Malfoy's encouragement that it would cover up the 'mangled mess you call hair'. Malfoy invests in a pack of Speight's playing cards, claiming they're the only cards they should be playing with while drinking Speight's beer in Speight's pub.

By the time they sit down in the bar to eat, it's gone 6pm and Harry is starving. When the food arrives, they both tuck in.

Around a mouthful, Harry asks, “So, do you want to be a brewer again now?”

“I really, really do,” Malfoy answers. “I think the world is an infinitely better place when you're slightly tipsy, and I would quite love to help make the world a better place.”

“Is it not possible to do that without the need for everyone to be drunk?”

“Tipsy, not drunk,” Malfoy corrects. “And no, from my experience it's ridiculously easy to make the world _worse_ , but nearly impossible to make it _better_ , even if you decide you want to.”

“It's actually the other way around for me.”

They both pause, hands on their knives and forks but not eating.

“How so?” Malfoy finally asks.

“Because there's always someone there to tell me.” Harry keeps his eyes on his food as he talks. “To tell me that becoming an Auror is the _right_ thing to do because I'll help catch so many bad guys and save so many innocent lives. To tell me that I should make public speeches and attend charity balls because I'm a public figure who can boost awareness of good causes and steer the public in a positive direction. To tell me it's time I settled down to get married and start a family.” He looks up now, into Malfoy's grey eyes that are full of sympathy and understanding, but not pity or manipulation. A week ago Malfoy was the last person Harry would've expected to comprehend or care, but he does, and suddenly Harry doesn't want to look away.

It's that thought that causes him to avert his eyes, though.

“It's when I start protesting, when I say I'm not sure about joining the Aurors, or when I say I'm not comfortable giving speeches or going to fancy balls, or when I say I'm only 18 and too young to settle down... It's then that I end up upsetting people, causing pain and trouble. It's then the world gets worse. It's easier to go along with it and keep everyone happy.”

“Everyone but yourself?” Malfoy asks softly.

Harry slowly lifts his eyes back to Malfoy. “If they're happy, then—”

“Bollocks.”

The sudden deja vu makes Harry's head spin. “It does!” He protests.

Malfoy shakes his head. “Utter bollocks. Keeping your friends happy is important to you, sure. It's lovely when they're happy. But their happiness should not come at the expense of your own.”

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but doesn't get the chance

“Don't even try to disagree with me. I have my own experience in this area. It might not have been my parents' happiness I was trying to sustain, but their approval was, in a lot of ways, even more important to me.

“Before I was of age; before I got the mark, I wavered. I had my own mind, believe it or not, and I wondered if, as a man, I could make my own choice. If I wanted to, I could leave home, leave my parents, leave that noseless bastard... leave the war.”

Harry finds himself hoping, even though he knows how this story ends. “But you didn't leave.”

“I can't say for sure I would have—they were just thoughts, ideas. The concept alone was rebellious. But I would have been acting alone; my parents would never have come with me. And to leave them behind... they'd wouldn't have just been disappointed in me, they'd have been appalled. They'd have disowned me. So I put my I'd-rather-not-destory-the-world notions aside and took the mark the day I turned 17.

“I did it for my parents, not myself, and it was one—admittedly one of many—of the worst decisions of my life. So far—plenty of time left to make more, I guess. My point is, it wasn't worth it. In the short term, my parents were proud of me. In the long term, they're in prison and I'm left feeling nothing but disappointed in myself.”

Speech apparently finished, Malfoy turns his attention back to his meal. It takes Harry a few long moments to pick up his cutlery and start eating again.

It's only half an hour later, once their plates are cleared away and they have fresh beers in front of them, that Kiri and Harper show up and drop themselves into chairs at the table.

“Hey.” Kiri greets them while Harper raises a hand to say hi.

“How was uni this week?” Malfoy asks them.

“Mīharo! I mohio koutou—”

“Kiri,” says Harper, taking her hand and smiling, “I love hearing you speak Maori, but all I've ever learnt is _kei te aroha au ki a koe_ ; we have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Sorry, sorry. Speaking Maori all day in classes, when I talk about university I slip right back into it.”

“It's an interesting sounding language,” Harry tells her.

“It is, but it's fluently spoken by only 9% of the population,” Kiri says tightly. “It was much more prevalent before the second world war, but after there was a shift from Maori to English.” Her voice is getting louder and Harry feels the urge to apologise. “I might be a little bitter,” she finishes at a more reasonable volume.

“Is Taine as passionate about this as you are?” Malfoy asks.

Kiri rolls her eyes. “Please, he can barely ask for directions in Maori. Our parents speak Maori just as much as English, I don't know how he grew up in our house without becoming fluent.”

“Speak of the devil,” Harper says as she looks over Harry's shoulder.

Taine appears at the end of the table and rubs his hands together. “Weekend!” he exclaims. “Who wants a drink?”

“Me, please.” Malfoy is the first to speak up.

Kiri nods, Harper holds up a hand, and Harry says, “Yes, thank you.”

Once everyone is sitting down with a drink in their hand, the night begins proper.

Taine regales them with a tale of a particularly fussy client who didn't like Taine's choice of font, and actually suggested Comic Sans. Malfoy laughs along with his friends, but throws a baffled glance in Harry's direction.

Harper shares jokes that one of her classmates has been telling all week, but they're based around her specialist subject of microbiology. No one around the table understands any of them, though Harry gets the vague impression they're lewd in some way.

After another round, things spiral in much the same way as they must have done last week.

“Taine,” Kiri calls out, “what would you do if you only had 24 hours to live?”

“Drink faster,” Taine answers without hesitation. He follows his words with his drink, taking a long pull.

Harry cheers along with the rest of them.

“Harry!” Taine points in his direction. “What would you do if all your hair fell out?”

With a shrug, Harry easily responds, “Be grateful I wouldn't have to worry about it looking like shit any more.”

He side-eyes Malfoy when he laughs a little bit too much as Harry's answer. Harper is watching them over her glass of wine with a small smile.

“Harper,” Harry throws out, “what would you do if wine became non-existent?”

Harper clutches at her chest with her free hand. “How could you?” she asks.

Harry shrugs innocently.

“Drink gin instead, and hate every second of it.” She turns her eyes to Malfoy. “Draco, what would you do if you woke up tomorrow a woman?”

The answer is instantaneous, and it is Malfoy, Harry and Taine who cry it out together.

“Masturbate!”

Their combined declaration is loud enough for the tables around them to go silent for several seconds. Into the silence spills the laughter of all five of them, and Harry is happy to be a part of it.

~

It's almost midnight by the time they roll out of the pub. Kiri, Harper and Taine roll straight into a taxi while Harry and Malfoy lean against Speight's wall and wave them off.

Out in the fresh night air, Harry feels almost sober. He wonders if he could Apparate back to his bed and breakfast, but decides against it. It's not that far to walk, though, so he pushes himself from the wall. He only manages to take one step before he's drawn up short.

“Potter,” Malfoy calls.

Harry turns to see Malfoy looking at his watch. “What?”

Instead of answering, Malfoy stares up into the cloudless black sky. Eventually he says, “Tour Guide Malfoy has another sight for you to see.”

“Now?” Harry looks at his own watch. “It's midnight!”

“It's the perfect time. Come on.” Malfoy grabs Harry's wrist, pulling him into the alley beside Speight's. His grip on Harry's wrist tightens slightly before he Apparates them away.

Where they appear, Harry isn't sure, because it's pitch black.

“Where are we?”

“Tunnel Beach. It's the perfect time and weather to be here.”

“When it's so dark you can't see it?”

Malfoy's laughter is a low rumble from his chest, and Harry's almost certain he can feel it in his own.

“Come on, let's sit on the boulder.”

Even though they've only shared the boulder a couple of times in the last week, and Malfoy claims it as his napping boulder, Harry's mind supplies the title 'our boulder'. He's glad it's dark enough to hide his embarrassed flush.

They climb up and clumsy arrange themselves side by side in the dark. Harry's pretty sure they're facing out to sea, but there is not even moonlight to reflect off the water. The gentle sound of waves is comforting, though.

“So, what is it I'm supposed to be seeing? I'm assuming it's _not_ the darkness.”

“It's not. Trust me, you'll know it when you see it.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and gradually Harry's eyes adjust to the dark. He can make out his own legs, and the shape of Malfoy sitting next to him, but that's all.

“So you came here to run away from your friends' demands?” Malfoy asks quietly.

“I guess so,” Harry admits. “I'm sorry I dumped all that on you at dinner. You don't have to—”

“I'm running away from my responsibilities.” Malfoy sighs. “Or, more accurately, what my father believes are my responsibilities.”

Harry holds his breath, scared even breathing will break the spell and Malfoy will laugh it off and go splashing into the sea fully clothed or something equally ridiculous.

“As the only Malfoy not currently in Azkaban, my father thinks I should be organising the family's finances, fighting appeals to free my parents, filing papers to get control of the Manor back. Not to mention doing all I can to salvage the Malfoy name and reputation.”

Then Malfoy does laugh, but it lacks any mirth. It is a harsh, bitter sound that cuts through the night.

“My father also thought following an insane, murderous megalomaniac who made us torture, maim and kill innocent people was a top notch idea, so I'm disinclined to follow his lead again. So much so, in fact—”

Malfoy stops, and Harry can just make out his eyes, staring hard out to the ocean.

“Draco,” Harry whispers, sure in this moment that using his family name would not be welcomed.

“So much so—” Malfoy sighs. “—that since the moment my cell door closed and locked me in Azkaban for two months, I've only been doing what he _wouldn't_ want me to do.”

“What?” Harry practically gasps the word, sure this revelation is huge, but as yet unsure how it will affect him—will affect them.

“I figured that if doing and being what my father wanted got me to that point, from then on I was going do the opposite. That I'd do all the things my father _wouldn't_ want me to do. So, if there's a choice to make, I choose the path my father would disapprove of. If I have an idea or an opportunity presents itself, I'll go with what I know my father would not like. How much worse can it be, really?”

“And how much worse is it?” Harry whispers, stupidly nervous.

“It's not worse at all—it's better.”

Harry can hear the smile in Malfoy's voice, and he physically sags in relief. Then another, even more worrying thought occurs to Harry.

“Is that why you're being so reckless?”

“What?” Malfoy asks, turning to look at Harry. “I'm not reckless.”

“Oh no, trampling flowers and blasting caves, leaning head first over ledges and out of train windows, sheer cliff climbing and never turning down a drink—none of that is reckless.”

“Potter,” Malfoy says with sickening sweetness. “Are you worried about me?”

“Well someone bloody has to be. It's one thing to shake off your father's bad life choices, it's entirely another to use that as an excuse to start making your own.”

“I'm not—”

“ _Yes_ , you are, Draco. Believe me. Headstrong reckless Gryffindor speaking here, and if _I_ think you're being a tad too reckless, you might want to just... think about it.”

There is silence for a moment, before Malfoy takes a deep breath and says, “Okay.”

“Good,” is Harry's simple reply.

Neither of them speaks for a few more minutes. The only sound is the gentle crashing of the waves against the shore. Harry's feels sure it's getting lighter, but sunrise isn't for hours.

“Thank you,” Malfoy's voice is soft in the darkness.

“What for?”

“For caring?” Malfoy seems to ask. “For wanting me to make better choices, not just different ones.”

“Well,” Harry starts, a little flustered, “you're welcome.”

“Thank you for the other stuff, too.”

Harry frowns at Malfoy, confused.

“The big stuff, you know. The fire, your testimony... thank you. I didn't say anything at the time, because it's what my father would have wanted me to do—thank you in a perfectly sycophantic way.”

Harry has to admit he's somewhat taken aback. “Why are you doing it now, then?”

“Because I mean it, now, and because I want you to know that.”

Attempting to ignore the soft, warm feeling in his chest, Harry turns out to face the water. The water he can now see.

“It _is_ getting lighter, isn't it? It's not just me.”

Malfoy laughs. “It's not just you.”

“But...” Something's off. The water, it's isn't reflecting white like the moon... “It's pink.”

Malfoy's breath is warm against Harry's ear as he whispers, “Stop looking at the water, Harry—look _up_.”

So Harry does.

Instead of the cloudless black abyss he last remembers registering, the sky is alive with colour. Pink and yellow, some green and a touch of blue. And moving—the colours are _moving_.

“What the—?”

“Beautiful, isn't?”

“But what is it?”

“The southern lights,” Malfoy tells him.

“The _southern_ lights?”

“Yep. Everyone's heard of the northern lights—apparently the southern lights get far less publicity.”

Harry watches, enthralled, as the light continues to grow brighter and move, convinced this is the most gorgeous thing he's seen in his life.

As he watches, Harry's mind begins to wander. He remembers the first time he came to this beach. It seems like so long ago now, but it's only been a little over a week. He remembers Malfoy striding up to him, talking easily with him. He remembers coming back the next day, already desperate for Malfoy's attention. He remembers the pause before Malfoy invited him out for drinks with his friends—the conscious decision made.

“It's why you were nice to me, isn't it?” he asks into the silence.

“What was?” Malfoy asks.

“You were doing what your father wouldn't want you to do—that's why you were nice to me.”

Malfoy sighs and drops his head to one side. “Yes and no.”

“What do you mean, yes and no?”

“I could argue it either way. Yes, my father wouldn't want me to be nice to you, because in his eyes, it's all your fault we lost the war. On the other hand, he would want me to be nice to you in order to help rebuild the family's name and reputation.”

“Oh.” Harry frowns, unsure what to make of that. “So, then, why _were_ you nice to me?”

“I decided to do the opposite of both arguments—I'd be nice to you, because it's all your fault we lost the war.” He turns to Harry. “Don't worry, Potter, I don't want Malfoy brownie points for being nice to you—in fact I'll start being nasty again if you try.”

“Deal.” Harry smiles. “I'm glad,” he admits.

“Glad about what?”

“I'm glad you decided to go against your father. It must have been hard, but I admire the hell out of you for choosing to do it. It's the reason we're here, now. On a boulder at one o'clock in the morning, on the other side of the world, watching the southern lights.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds almost romantic.” Malfoy's voice is a low whisper in Harry's ear again.

He turns slowly to face Malfoy, their faces only centimetres apart. Harry can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest, and he's petrified, even though he's sort of wanted this for days.

“What would your father want you to do now?” he asks.

“Not kiss you.”

And with that, Malfoy closes the scant space between them and presses their lips together.

Harry's so shocked he doesn't even close his eyes. Malfoy does, though, and as their lips move gently against each other, Harry can see Malfoy's face bathed in pink and yellow light. He suddenly changes his mind— _this_ is the most gorgeous thing he's seen in his life.

~

As Harry opens his eyes the next morning, a smile tugs instantly at the corners of his mouth. He lets his eye drift closed again as he reaches two fingers up to touch his lips, remembering the kiss.

Remembering his hand coming up to cup Malfoy's jaw, a thumb stroking across his cheekbone. Remembering Malfoy's hand sliding around Harry, resting on his back for a few moments before pulling them closer together. Remembering their mouths eventually wrenching apart while they rested their foreheads together and took deep breaths. Remembering Malfoy's quiet words, “We should get some rest.” Remembering his own absent-minded nod and questioning, “I'll see you again later today?” Remembering Malfoy's small acquiescing bow of the head.

It's past midday by the time Harry slides out of bed and into the shower. Knowing he's late he dashes off, more eager than ever to meet Malfoy for breakfast.

Harry waits outside Speight's for only five or ten minutes; he's an hour late, and Malfoy obviously wouldn't wait around that long. The next logical step is breakfast, so Harry heads to the bagel shop to look for Malfoy. He doesn't worry when he doesn't find Malfoy there, he just heads along to the crepe café. He still doesn't spot Malfoy, but he is hungry. He doesn't spend long debating what to have; he orders a lemon and sugar crepe.

By the time he's finished eating Malfoy hasn't appeared. He tells himself the heavy feeling in his stomach is the stupid whipped-cream-less crepe.

The only other obvious place he can think of to look for Malfoy is Tunnel Beach. When he thinks of it he wants to kick himself for not going there straight away. He check the time, but isn't sure why he bothers; he has no idea what time high tide will be at. He ducks into an alley and Apparates to their boulder, just in case.

The sea is sparkling so brightly when he arrives Harry has to shield his eyes. The tide is high, but there is some sand visible around the boulder. It looks wet and inviting, but Harry doesn't spare it more than a cursory glance. What because obvious within seconds of his arrival is that Malfoy isn't there.

Deciding to pause and take stock, Harry lowers himself down to sit on the boulder. He doesn't consciously mean to, but he find himself sitting in the exact spot he was last night. He feels the ghost of Malfoy's warmth next to him, the whisper of Malfoy's breath against his ear, the pressure of Malfoy's lips against his own.

Harry shakes himself, enjoying the memories, but more keen to find Malfoy.

A small part of him, deep in his chest is tightening with concern. The other, more logical, parts of him are choosing not to worry. He and Malfoy could each be searching for the other and simply missing each other. Or, with yesterday mostly spent drinking, Malfoy missing his nap and the night going on a lot longer than usual, Malfoy could simply still be asleep.

Harry nods to himself. That makes sense. So much sense, in fact, that Harry decides to stay right here and wait for Malfoy to wake up, get his own breakfast and come and find Harry. The tightness in his chest eases a little and Harry relaxes on the rock. He lays back and looks up at the white clouds dotting the blue sky. He finds himself smiling up at them, idly assessing their shapes and assigning personas. A horse in a wheelchair, an elephant standing on stool, and a fish reading a book.

It's there, laying on the boulder where Malfoy kissed him barely 12 hours ago, staring up at a cloud shaped like a watering can, that Harry realises he's happy. Not just glad to be away from the pressure of his life back in England happy. Not just having a great time on holiday happy. A light, carefree, spread to every particle of his body _happy_.

For a moment it scares him, knowing it's Draco Malfoy who has helped him feel this way, who's encouraged that feeling to spread through him, every single day, since Harry found him on this beach. It scares him to consider how much that happiness is tied to Malfoy.

Something else Malfoy helped Harry feel is possibility. And that chases away the concern. If Harry can be a racing broom maker or a healer—if those are possibilities for Harry, then _Malfoy_ is a possibility for Harry. And Malfoy is a possibility Harry wants to pursue.

If Malfoy ever gets out of bed, that is.

When Harry checks his watch he discovers he's been watching clouds and having a happiness epiphany for over an hour. He decides he's given Malfoy plenty of time to get his arse out of bed. And really, if Malfoy didn't want Harry showing up on his doorstep, he shouldn't have shown him where he lived.

Harry Apparates to the alley near Speight's and walks from there; it's only round the corner. Standing in front of Malfoy's bed and breakfast, Harry suddenly feels nervous. What if Malfoy's not in? What if he's wandering around Dunedin? What if he Apparated to Tunnel Beach seconds after Harry Disapparated? What if, what if, what if. Harry feels like he's playing a pub game with himself.

Tired of his own dilly-dallying, Harry lifts and hand and knocks firmly on the door. Harry fidgets on the spot for the entire 30 seconds he waits for the door to be opened. When it is, there is a short brunette woman behind it. She smiles at Harry.

“Welcome, do you have a reservation?”

“Oh, no, I’m here to see Draco Malfoy.”

“Of course.” She opens the door wide and motions Harry inside. “I think he’s still in—he was at breakfast today for the first time in over a week!”

A guilty happy feeling crawls up in Harry, knowing Malfoy has been skipping his inclusive meals to eat breakfast with Harry. He’s not sure why it pleases him so much, though, considering Harry’s been doing the exact same thing himself.

The woman leads him through a small foyer and down a hall before stopping outside a plain door.

She knocks. “Draco, you have a guest.”

The door opens quickly, and Malfoy is there in long baggy pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. “Who—” he begins, before his eyes move to Harry and he stops. “Thanks, Zina. Come in, then, Potter.”

The woman—Zina—smiles at them before heading off to another part of the house. Malfoy steps aside, making room for Harry to walk into the room before closing the door behind him.

The room is light and sunny. It has a large bed against a dark red wall, and a wooden desk set inside the turret windows.

“Nice room,” Harry comments into the quiet.

“I didn’t expect you to come here.”

“You brought me here last week—I knew you were staying here. And when you didn’t show up for breakfast, or at the beach…”

Malfoy walks to the window and gazes out into the sun. “I’m sorry,” he says simply.

“For not showing up for breakfast?” Harry asks hopefully as a lead ball slowly materialises in his chest.

“That, too.”

“Draco…”

Harry doesn’t really know what he’s going to say, but before he can fumble his way through some words, Malfoy turns away from the window to face Harry, muttering a Silencing spell at the room.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

The lead ball drops from his chest to settle in Harry’s stomach. “I wanted you to.”

Malfoy shakes his head. “Maybe that only makes it worse.”

“Why? Didn’t you want to kiss me?”

“I did, but…”

“No, no but.” Harry holds out a definitive finger pointed at Malfoy.

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“I’m making it as simple as that. We both wanted to kiss, and we kissed. No apologies for that.”

Malfoy sighs. “Okay, not for that, for this.”

Harry doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to know. “What’s ‘this’?”

“Me, standing here telling you we can’t do it again.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“You told me, only last night, I should be making better life choices, not just ones my father would disapprove of.”

Harry’s lead ball gets smaller, more concentrated, as his lips thin and his jaw tightens. “And I’m just a choice your father would disapprove of,” he grounds out between clenched teeth.

“It’s not just you, Harry.” Malfoy’s voice is a soft contrast to Harry’s.

“Then what is it? An impulsive holiday romance? A drunken, late night error in judgement? An unexpectedly romantic moment gone astray?”

“It’s that I can’t be _gay_.”

That brings Harry up short. He might have kissed Malfoy last night and been thinking about it all morning, but ‘gay’ is not a word that even entered his head. Is he gay? Harry doesn’t know. Maybe, apparently, because he _still_ wants to kiss Malfoy.

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay, Malfoy.”

“I know that.”

“Then why is it a problem?”

“There’s nothing wrong with other people being gay, but I—I _can’t_ …”

“I don’t know, that kiss was pretty convincing. I’d say you can be a little gay.”

Malfoy closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You don’t understand. This… my father would _hate_ this.”

“Isn’t that the point? Don’t you want to be doing things your father wouldn’t want you to?” As he speaks, Harry can feel his throat constrict, trying to clamp down on fears he’s not sure he wants to voice. He fails miserably when the next words fall too easily from him mouth. “That’s the only reason you kissed me in the first place, right? Because your father would hate for you to?”

“You’re so stupid sometimes, Potter.”

“Only sometimes?” Harry mumbles to himself.

Malfoy hears him, anyway. “Only sometimes,” he says with a small smile. “You’re stupid right now because my father’s disapproval was not the _only_ reason I kissed you. And you’re stupid because even if it was, making my own choices is just not that easy.”

“You’ve been making it look like a breeze this past week.”

“It hasn’t been. Abandoning my parents and my home to disappear half way around the word, making friends with Muggles, and spending all my savings… they’re huge, but being _gay?_ Not getting married, not producing an heir? My father would disown me.” Malfoy sighs wearily. “Doing what my father wants and approves of has been ingrained in me every single day of my life. I have to consciously stop and evaluate _every_ choice I make to determine if _I’m_ actually the one making it. Do you know how exhausting that is? Even things that might seem simple, like afternoon naps, drinking milkshakes, and eating popcorn. None of it has ever been easy. But every other choice I’ve made so far was easier than it would be to make the choice to walk over and kiss you right now.”

Malfoy’s eyes look directly into Harry’s, and Harry can see the struggle there. The struggle to make himself move, because Harry is sure now—Malfoy does _want_ to kiss Harry.

Harry gives him a small smile. “You don’t have to make the choice alone, you know.” He steps forward and holds out a hand to Malfoy. “I’m still hazy myself on the gay thing, but I’m choosing you, if you want me.”

“I want you,” Malfoy whispers instantly, as if he can’t keep the words in. It’s like a spell’s been broken, and Malfoy moves forward. He takes Harry’s hand and pulls him close. “I want you,” he says again against Harry’s lips.

This kiss isn’t like the one last night under the southern lights. This isn’t slow or hesitant. It’s pure desire, and Harry wants to drown in it.

Harry’s arms slide, seemingly of their own accord around Malfoy’s waist, and Harry can feel Malfoy’s hand at the back of his head. As their mouths kiss and moan, their hands roam each other’s bodies. Harry maps Malfoy’s back, the way the muscles move, the way his spine arches. Malfoy’s hands run from Harry’s head, around his neck and down his chest, and Harry’s skin burns with need beneath his clothes.

As Malfoy’s hands continue downwards over Harry’s stomach, Harry strokes over Malfoy’s hips around to his abdomen. For a moment their kissing falters and their eyes open. Harry searches Malfoy’s cool grey depths for an answer, but finds only his own question. It seems neither of them knows what they’re doing, but they both want to do _something_.

The tentativeness hangs between them for a moment before the wanting becomes too much. They are kissing again and their hands move more assuredly. Harry’s slips easily past the waistband of Malfoy’s pyjama bottoms, and Malfoy makes short work of Harry’s buttoned flies before sliding his own hand into Harry’s underwear.

It’s strange to hold another man in his hand, but Harry doesn’t stop to contemplate it. He revels in Malfoy’s touch, firm and gentle, and loses himself in the heavy panting their kisses have been reduced to. His world narrows to the sensations; to stroking smooth skin and shared breaths, to soft whimpers of pleasure and warmth curling in his groin.

For a moment, the strength of his desire for Malfoy scares him; Harry doesn’t think he’s felt this kind of longing before. Then all he feels is bliss as his vision goes white and he senses Malfoy shuddering against him.

Afterwards is awkward. Extracting hands and casting cleaning charms while blushing furiously when they catch each other’s eye. Harry leaves his flies unbuttoned, but stands in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with himself. He feels Malfoy’s hand slip into his before he pulls Harry gently towards the bed.

They crawl under the sheets, Malfoy in his pyjamas and Harry fully dressed. They lay on their sides, facing each other.

“I did that because I wanted to,” Malfoy tells him. “…Just wanted to make that clear.”

“Want a lot of things, do you?”

Malfoy smiles. “Oh yes; I’m only just getting started.”

Harry smiles back and reaches out beneath the covers. His hand lands on Malfoy’s waist, and Harry can feel Malfoy’s hand on his hip. Feeling tiredness pull at him, Harry figures it’s about time for a late afternoon nap.

~

When Harry wakes it’s dark outside. He looks over to find Malfoy lying next to him with his eyes open.

“Morning?” Harry offers.

“Give it a few hours.” Malfoy grins at him.

“We slept a little early, I guess.”

“We did wear ourselves out first.”

Harry blushes at Malfoy's words, while Malfoy turns towards Harry and strokes his cheek.

“You don't regret it, do you?” Malfoy asks.

“No,” Harry replies quickly. “No. Do—”

“No.” Malfoy's voice is soft and Harry melts a little.

“Where do we go from here?” Harry asks, even though he's half afraid to hear the answer.

“How about Tunnel Beach?”

It's not the answer to the question Harry was asking, but he likes it. With a smile and a nod, they drag themselves out of bed.

Malfoy leads them quietly from the house and into its small side garden. He wraps his arms around Harry's waist and in a second, they're gone.

At the beach the sky is a dull grey, but the dim light is enough to illuminate the bobbing water. Harry looks out at the ocean, quickly feeling more at ease.

Unable to let go of his unanswered question, Harry decides to be more direct. “Are you going to freak out and run away from me again?”

“I didn’t run away from you,” Malfoy counters, “I just didn’t come _to_ you.”

“My point stands. You’re staying with me, right?”

Malfoy hesitates.

“Draco.” Harry reaches out a hand to Malfoy’s arm. “Talk to me.”

“It’s a constant effort,” he says eventually, “living my own life. I’m fighting against my very instincts. I might want you—I might know that in my heart—but every instinct in me is telling me I shouldn’t. My default position is to stop, turn away, and pretend I don’t want you.”

“In your heart, mmm?” Despite the rest of Malfoy’s words, those ones give Harry hope.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and pushes Harry with his shoulder. “I’ve been working hard to not be dick, to not be the selfish, entitled snob I was brought up as. But at some point I’ll slip. At some point I’ll say something offensive or do something I’ll hate myself for.”

“I know what it’s like,” Harry tells him. “I’ve been going against my instincts too. My instincts to stay and make sure my friends are happy at, as someone rightly pointed out, the expense of my own happiness.”

“You’re _still_ doing that, only now you’re doing it for me. Encouraging me to be the kind of person I want to be, rather than who I’ve been trained to be. Now you’re fighting for _my_ happiness, and it’s patently ridiculous.”

“Maybe I am, but the difference is this involves _my_ happiness too—I want you to be okay with wanting me, because I want you too.”

A small smile appears on Malfoy’s face. “That’s decent incentive, actually.”

“Good.” Harry tightens his grip on Malfoy’s arm possessively.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the waves wash the sand and the sky lighten infinitesimally. The peacefulness of this beach is constantly calming and secure. Harry thinks he could sit on this boulder forever, listening to water, smelling the ocean air, and feeling the sea breeze.

“I love it here,” Harry admits.

“Me too. And not just the beach—Dunedin, New Zealand. I feel like I’ve found myself here; the real me, the person I want to be.” He pauses, and Harry watches as he bites his lip. “I’m not sure I ever want to leave.”

Harry’s fingers twitch on Draco’s arm. “Really?”

Malfoy shrugs. “I’m me here. I’m not Lucius Malfoy’s son, I’m not a Death Eater, I’m not my bad decisions.”

For Harry there was never really any question of not going back to England. He might have daydreamed about staying here, or travelling the world, but he knows he won’t, not forever. As much as his friends put pressure on him to do certain things, they are his friends—he couldn’t abandon them forever.

“I can’t stay here,” Harry says.

“I know,” Malfoy replies without looking at him.

“But I don’t want to leave without you.”

“You won’t have to,” Malfoy says softly. “I might not _want_ to leave Dunedin, but I need to. I don’t have an infinite amount of money in my savings, and I haven’t exactly been living on a budget.” He sighs. “As much as I’d rather not, I will have to go back and sort out the family finances—as acting head of the estate while my parents are in Azkaban, I’m the only one who can.”

Harry can’t help the smile that creeps on to his face.

“There’s no need to look so pleased, Potter. It’s not all going to be sunshine and roses. If I thought it was hard making my own choices here, as far away from my father as I can get, it’s going to be infinitely more difficult back in England.”

“But I’ll be there—I can help.”

“Will you? You won’t be too busy joining the Aurors, making speeches and getting married?”

Harry screws up his face. “ _No_ ,” he tells Malfoy resolutely. “I might have had to run away from my problems, but being here, with you… you’ve shown me I can fight them. I can say no, not to hurt my friends, but to help myself.”

“Saying it here, on a beach on the other side of the world is simple…”

“I know. I know it’ll be harder to say it to their faces, but I’ll have you by my side, right?”

“You think that’ll make it _easier?_ ”

“For me it will.” Harry shrugs. “They… they’ll have to deal with it.”

“It’s going to be madness, you know that, right?” Malfoy slides his palm under Harry’s hand on his leg and interlocks their fingers.

Harry squeezes Malfoy’s hand and smiles at him before turning to look out at the ocean. He sees the light of the sun peeking out at the horizon. He knows Malfoy’s right, but all he feels is happiness.


End file.
